


Property Of Yennefer

by direSin



Series: Fragments Of A Whole [4]
Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types, Wiedźmin | The Witcher Series - Andrzej Sapkowski
Genre: Canon Compliant, F/M, Fluff and Humor, Fluff and Smut, It Can't All Be Sweetness And Light, One Shot, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-19
Updated: 2020-08-19
Packaged: 2021-03-06 02:34:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,080
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25996084
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/direSin/pseuds/direSin
Summary: “I rarely go around butt naked, I’ll have you know.”“That’s a relief.”If her tone wasn’t drier than a desert it wasn’t for lack of trying. A smile tugged at the corners of his lips. “I haven’t heard you laugh like that in - forever. Hell, I haven’t laughed like that in forever.” He paused, finding the words, feeling the rasp of some raw emotion right under the surface. It had felt like a rush back to something he thought had been lost, that surge of easy, uncomplicated mirth shared between them. “It’ll be a good memory.”
Relationships: Geralt/Yennefer
Series: Fragments Of A Whole [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/991311
Comments: 21
Kudos: 64





	Property Of Yennefer

**Author's Note:**

> The story is set during w3 and attempts to reconcile _The Last Wish_ quest with canon. It starts the day after the famous [Summon The Bitches](https://youtu.be/ckWQEt0cxEI) scene - under the premise that Geralt and the witchers proceeded to get shitfaced some more instead of going to bed. That day is when Yennefer lifts Uma's/Avallac'h's curse and they finally find out that Ciri is on the Isle of Mists.
> 
> No part of the Netflix show has any bearing on this story and will ever have any bearing on anything I write in this fandom.

“Just say it, Yen. I know you want to.” 

“Say what?” 

Geralt flicked a glance at her over his shoulder.

She went sweetly wide-eyed for a moment but it was one of her less convincing expressions and she knew it. Her lips pursed briefly at the corners. “Fine. You should’ve gone to sleep when I told you to.” She cocked her head to watch him as he decided if he was going to make something of it. 

Geralt sighed but without real rancor; by now it had fizzled into tired amusement. The day had been long and eventful - which did nothing for his hangover. “So how bad is it?” he asked.

Yennefer made a thoughtful noise. “It’s a heart,” she told him after a pause. 

“A heart? That’s - ” Never mind, he had no idea what to make of it. “Is that it?” He craned his neck, trying to see. It was impossible of course; he’d need a mirror. 

“Oh no. There’s more.” 

Of course there was. Geralt sighed again. “Some obscenity, I take it?” 

“Not quite. It’s - Well, It could have been worse.” 

“That’s promising.” He scrubbed both hands over his face, feeling the tug of exhaustion. “All right, tell me already.” 

“Property of Yennefer,” she said. Her voice was suspiciously unsteady.

“What?” 

Yennefer cleared her throat. “You’ve got _Property of Yennefer_ tattooed on your ass,” she said, articulating with precision. Her face had taken on the serene stillness of a portrait but her eyes danced. 

Geralt pressed his lips together. 

There was a bit of silence. 

He wasn’t sure if he started laughing first or if she did. 

She slumped forward, resting her forehead against his bare shoulder; her hair tickled his skin and gave him goosebumps. That made him laugh harder. 

“With a heart,” he choked out between gasps.

She collapsed against his back and for several minutes straight they all but rattled each other, shaking. Their laughter rang off the ceiling and woke warm echoes in the dark dingy room. 

“You know,” Yennefer said eventually, struggling to catch her breath, “that was not the reaction I’d expected.”

Geralt swallowed his laughter with an effort but he was still quivering deep down in his gut. “You said it. It could have been worse.” 

“I suppose. He might have misspelled it.”

“Lambert is ridiculously well-spoken when drunk.”

“You really aren’t angry with him.” She eased back a step to regard him with curious eyes.

“Might as well get angry the rain’s wet.” Geralt shrugged. “Besides, it _is_ funny. I mean, he’s not wrong.”

Yennefer ducked his head but not before he glimpsed the pleased curve to her mouth. “It won’t take much to remove it,” she said, brushing careful fingertips over the tattoo. “Provided you hold still - Damn it, Geralt, stop twisting - ”

“Leave it,” he said abruptly and she shot him a quizzical look. “We’ve better things to worry about.”

“You can’t be serious.”

“I rarely go around butt naked, I’ll have you know.”

“That’s a relief.” 

If her tone wasn’t drier than a desert it wasn’t for lack of trying. A smile tugged at the corners of his lips. “I haven’t heard you laugh like that in - forever. Hell, I haven’t laughed like that in forever.” Geralt paused, finding the words, feeling the rasp of some raw emotion right under the surface. It had felt like a rush back to something he thought had been lost, that surge of easy, uncomplicated mirth shared between them. “It’ll be a good memory.”

She said nothing but the quality of her silence changed and before he could puzzle it out she leaned forward and startled him with a kiss pressed between his shoulder blades.

His next breath felt like broken glass, sharp and brittle in his chest. For as long as he’d known her she had made him fight for every intimacy, for the tiniest concession. He’d given himself over to her from the start, heart and soul. His existence bent around her gravity and he was drawn to her even as he tried to leave her. She was the key. She was the apocalypse. At times he hated her almost as much as he loved her, for not needing him enough. He’d spent decades looking forward; everything had always been ‘when I can’ and ‘maybe someday’ -

She pulled on his shoulder until he faced her. Her fingers were cool against his skin but her mouth on his was hot and demanding.

He kissed her with all the frustrated passion of those years, all the pain and fear and bone-deep need for her. There were things he could only say without words. And whatever mess they’d made of their lives, this had never been the complicated part.

Her hands ghosted up his back, traced the line of his spine. She broke the kiss to run her lips over a scar on his sternum. He shivered as the tip of her tongue touched the places that had feeling. He knew she could hear the thudding of his heart, could feel his longing in the way his fingers clenched against her back. Her breasts were pressed against him and her fingertips played down his ribs, grazing the bone of his hip. His breath caught as she slid down his body and his cock bumped against her lips. She took him deeper and he had to bite the inside of his cheek just to make it through the first shock of it.

“Yen,” he said, shaking all over. Her mouth slid up and down on him and it was going to be over too soon if she kept it up. He rasped, “Yen - Yen, don’t - ” but she only hollowed her cheeks and sucked, running her hands up his thighs, and fuck, fuck, this was going to finish him in moments. “Please,” he tried, threading his fingers into her hair.

The cold air on his cock was a shock of a different kind and it wasn’t even really cold, just not her mouth. “Are you begging me not to suck you off?” she asked, amused, rising to her feet.

He was too far gone for humor. He let her half-walk, half-push him backwards toward the pile of furs, sinking down on it when she shoved him over with her hip. He watched her clothes melt away and reached for her, dumb with wanting her. His stubble was very nearly a beard and he worried, in the back of his mind, that it might scratch her as he kissed up her throat until he could get at her mouth. She didn’t complain. She reached for his cock and he kissed harder when her fingers tightened. She wanted him, he could smell it, and he spared a moment to thank whichever gods must be keeping him after all.

He was well into desperate by the time he touched her cunt and she was hot and slick and she dug her fingers into his shoulders, urging him on. When he pushed inside her she tilted her hips to meet him and wrapped her legs around him. He fucked into her, grinding deep, and she scored his back with her nails. He shuddered, his breath ragged. She matched his thrusts, clenching around him, pulling his head down to tug on his lower lip with her teeth, and it was too much, too much. He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to keep some control and failing, and she caught his cry in her mouth as he came.

Once he could think again he slid down the furs and put his mouth on her, tasting her, tasting himself on her. He flicked his tongue against her clit, just rough enough that she could really feel it, and he could tell the friction was sparking through her when her hips arched up against his face. He licked into her and she said unsteadily, “Yes. Yes - Geralt - ” His tongue moved over her and she rocked against him, breathing hard, almost gasping as she came undone under his mouth. He sucked at her clit and didn’t ease up until she stopped shaking.

He hauled himself up to stretch out next to her. She stroked his back in slow sweeps; he took it for satisfied approval. He could feel the curve of her smile against his throat. 

He wanted to shut out everything except the warmth of her body next to his, the scent and the feel of her hair, her soft breath on his neck. He tried to shove the worry down. It was no use. Whatever tension that had eased crept back and laid its fingers between his shoulders. 

“I should be on my way to Skellige,” he said and felt her stiffen beside him. 

She didn’t respond for so long that he began to wonder if she’d heard him. At last she said softly, sitting up, “You know it was the right call. It’d have taken you weeks to get there. Ciri might not have that kind of time.”

And that was exactly the problem. Geralt almost said it out loud but gritted his teeth and swallowed the words. It wasn’t her fault that he felt guilty idling here. It wasn’t her fault that lifting Avallac’h’s curse had taken everything she had. That she’d managed it at all was a miracle. 

He clenched his fists, willed himself to unclench them. She reached down and took his hand. He yanked it back, harsher than he meant to, and his stomach did a funny little flip. He held his breath, waiting to see what would happen. 

She leaned down and kissed him, soft and lingering, no teeth or tongue. Whatever he expected, it wasn’t that. He lay silent, thinking it over.

“I’ll be ready to open a portal by morning,” she said quietly. “I made you a promise, did I not?”

He turned his head on the pillow so he could see her better. She watched him, violet gaze too knowing, and he had to look away, hands tightening again for a second before he caught himself. “What if something goes wrong with Avallac’h and you have to fix it?”

Yennefer tilted her head, her hair spilling heavy and dark over her collarbones. “If it comes down to his well-being against Ciri’s - ” She trailed off, one shoulder moving in a shrug.

Geralt exhaled slowly. He’d make the same choice, a hundred times over if need be - even if he didn’t mistrust the elf. Which, come to think, he should warn her about. “When he recovers - ” 

“If he recovers.”

“Yen, be careful with him.”

“I take it you know him well?” She slanted a quick glance at him.

“Well enough to say he doesn’t think much of humans. Something about descending from a creature that took a million years to discover how to shove a gnawed bone up its rectum with two hairy hands and shrieked for joy.”

“I imagine you got on famously after that.” She shrugged again. “It’s not exactly a novel sentiment, coming from an elf.”

Geralt shook his head. “It’s more than that with him. He - I think he was meant to wed Lara Dorren. Maybe it’s only injured pride, maybe he truly loved her. Either way - ”

“All right. I’ll keep that in mind.”

“He’s Aen Saevherne. Keep that in mind too.”

“I will.” Her face was set in a distant expression of concentration Geralt knew well.

“There’s no need,” he said, frowning. She gave him a pointed once-over. Her magic brushed him, subtle and alive. “Yen, you’ve been doing magic all day.”

“You’re wound tighter than a bowstring and you’re nursing one hell of a hangover.” Her hand moved over his skin, cool and gentle, smoothing away the exhaustion and the headache. “It’s only a rejuvenation spell. Will you lecture me on the dangers of overextending myself, witcher? I know my limits.”

“Do you?” Geralt caught her eyes and for a few moments she held his gaze, daring him to continue. He let the silence hang, driving the point home, and she looked away first. 

“You aren’t bleeding to death now,” she said lightly. But her eyes traced the raised scars bisecting his midriff and her tone didn’t fool him one bit.

He remembered it only vaguely. Her face, downturned, drawn with grief. The smell of blood thick in the air. The taste of blood in his mouth. Blood drying on her face, and tears. The glow of magic dancing around her fingers, brightening and fading out, over and over -

He made the connection in a flash of understanding. 

The djinn. The wish. She wanted to know if it was only magic that kept them together, she’d said, but he had to wonder about that. Had to keep turning it over in his mind. She must have known that neither of them could be enspelled for so long. And why question it only then, after these many years? 

“Yen, is that why? The djinn hunt on Skellige - that’s what it was all about?”

He saw the flicker of surprise that crossed her face before it went carefully blank. She was silent for a long minute and he couldn't read her expression. She hid her emotions well. But he’d had years of practice and he knew the instant she gave in. “We can't afford another Rivia. Not when Ciri - ” She blew out a breath, glancing at him sideways. “At least one of us must be here for her.”

“You could’ve told me - ” Geralt started and cut himself off, the unresolved mystery clicking into place with a final insight.

They hadn’t seen each other for years and he - Well, he’d given her reason to doubt him, even if it wasn’t his fault... this time around. She had all but fled from him in Vizima and when he’d made it to Skellige at last he’d been so relieved to see her, to know that she was safe and that she’d missed him, it hadn’t occurred to him that she might still be unsure of where they stood. 

Guilt stabbed at him. “Yen - ” His tongue tripped over the words and he came to a halt but dammit, he’d loved her for over two decades. He’d better be able to say it. “Yen, I love you,” he said in a rush. “You never have to question that.”

She drew back just enough to meet his eyes. “And I love you,” she said, easy as breathing - as if it was something she said to him every day.

Geralt let the crackle of the fire in the hearth fill the silence until he could trust himself to speak. Instead he tangled his fingers in her hair, dragging her down, wanting to kiss her.

“Already?” she asked, arching her eyebrows, but she made the kiss long and sweet.

“Your rejuvenation spell has curious side effects,” he told her when he pulled back, a little breathless. "But if you aren't interested - ”

“Witcher, your negotiation skills are in dire need of improvement.”

He leveled an outraged look at her. 

Her mouth quirked. “Only you, Geralt. No one else can do naked and glaring quite like you.” She nipped at his neck, not gently.

“Ow. What was that for?”

“It can’t all be sweetness and light.” Her eyes glittered with amusement.

“Why the hell not?”

“You talk too much, for one thing.” 

Geralt snorted. “Of all the failings to accused me - ” 

She pushed at his shoulder and he let her roll him onto his back. “Put your mouth to better use,” she said curtly, straddling him, but her lips betrayed her with a smile.

She let him hold her, after. She didn't usually bother and Geralt lay quietly, savoring the moment. He was sure that he wouldn’t sleep at all, that his thoughts would chase themselves round and round until sunrise came. But the next thing he knew, he was sprawled on the makeshift bed and Yennefer was shaking him awake. Outside a gray pallor had already spread across the sky.

She met her gaze and in her eyes he could see the fear and the weariness she wouldn’t show anyone else. His heart ached, a familiar pain. He found her hand and held it tight in his own. She leaned against his shoulder.

When he sat up, raking a hand through his hair, she still had a wistful, distant look. He imagined he could feel the rush of thoughts under her skin. He squeezed her fingers gently. Her eyes came back to him and she gave him a solemn nod before she went to stand by the window, summoning her clothes as she got out of bed.

Geralt wished he could do the same. He dressed in silence, the knot of fear and worry pressing at his throat. The wind threw a handful of wet snow against the window and he looked up. Violet eyes flicked to him, not quite holding his gaze, and away again. Anxiety surged, tightening into a coil in his chest. More than anything he wanted the animal solace of touch and skin on skin. But Yen needed him to not be afraid - and for that he’d gladly laugh in the face of hell.

“I’ll come back,” he said. “With Ciri.”

“I know.” There wasn’t a trace of doubt in her voice. Her faith in him put him to shame; it was touching and terrifying all at once. He remembered suddenly, vividly, how she’d stood unflinching as he cut through the dimeritium collar around her neck with his sword.

He went to her and caught her in his arms. She kissed him lightly on the mouth. A moment passed and an eternity with it as she looked at him with the same steady tenderness that shocked him last night. Her hand was pressed against his cheek and he leaned into it, just a little, before he took a step back. 

Golden light flared, gathering, coalescing into a portal. A few long strides would carry him half the world away from her. Geralt hefted his swords, solid and comforting in his hands, and swung them, one after another, onto his back. Whatever awaited him on the other side, he was ready. 

He traded one last look with her and found his own resolve reflected in her eyes. She said, “Take good care of my property, will you?” and smiled, that faint wry smile that never failed to make his heart skip a beat. He soaked it up, quietly greedy. It filled the hollow place under his ribs.

**Author's Note:**

> A few years back I'd written a story _Once More, With Feeling_ based on _The Last Wish_ quest; it was posted here, on AO3, for a while. I didn't realize at the time that the quest takes major liberties with canon. Eventually I had taken the story down because of that - but while I saw no way to salvage it as a whole I like quite a few passages in it. I've used them in this story (with minor adjustments). So, on the odd chance some of it reads vaguely familiar to you, this is why.


End file.
